


Breathe

by starstruck1986



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-06 23:33:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/741466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstruck1986/pseuds/starstruck1986
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Another brother in peril's grip, an aloof blond in his house with a history Ron never wanted to know, and someone visiting from beyond the veil. It's all he can do to remember to breathe.<br/>Prompt: "After the war, Lucius abducts Charlie Weasley as a bargaining hostage. The Ministry places Draco with the Weasleys to ensure balance, and in the hopes that Lucius will be too scared for his son to hurt Charlie. As they spend time together, so Ron and Draco grow closer."<br/>Warnings: Child sexual and physical abuse, implied non-con, dub-con, themes of D/s, language, abduction, minor character death, angst, trauma and subsequent mental health issues.<br/>Author's notes: This was a massive challenge for me to write as I have barely written this pairing before. I never back away from a challenge though, so here this is, and I hope you like it. Thanks to the mods for the opportunity to write in this fest.</p><p>Written for the ron_draco_fest 2013 on Livejournal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe

  
**Breathe**  
  
"And we're just supposed to foot the bloody expense of him living here?"  
  
Ron's head was thumping. He had hoped, in vain, that after the war life might settle down. That they might achieve some kind of normality, where they all got up in the morning well and all went to bed at night safe and sound. If the throbbing of his brain was anything to go by, however, he thought he might quite like the war back.  
  
 _At least then you could throw a few hexes and they were meant to hit their targets._  
  
Scrubbing his fingers over his face, Ron straightened up in his chair. The same argument had been going on over his head for the past hour. He didn't have the energy to join in, but supposed sooner or later someone would demand a response from him.  
  
Ron thought he might have been able to provide one had he not felt completely numb from the neck down. The news of Charlie's abduction had been like a bucket of ice dumped unceremoniously over his head. His head was hot and his mind was swimming, but the rest of him hadn't thawed out yet. It hadn't caught up to the drama which was unfolding around his family, yet again.  
  
He looked from angry face to angry face, finding fear and fury in every pair of eyes. He had no idea what his own eyes looked like.  
  
"Don't you have something to say about this?" George snapped finally; his voice, so harsh and pained, cut through the reverie which Ron had happily fallen into.  
"What do you want me to say?" Ron heard himself croak. "Want me to say he can't come here, when the Ministry have already insisted that he is, and his presence might save Charlie's life?"  
"But Lucius is past reason... he must be to take someone like that. I can't see how us being forced to harbour his own son is going to give any balance to the situation at all!"  
  
Ron looked at his dad then, and saw the extra lines around his eyes and the greyish pallor of his skin. He wondered exactly how long it had been since either of his parents had slept.  
  
"What's the point of moaning?" Ron cleared his throat before he spoke again. "The Ministry have said it's happening. Nobody will change their mind and if we want Charlie back in one piece instead of in tiny pieces, I think we should just... do it..."  
"This is Draco Malfoy you're talking about," George reminded him, his voice gaining a nasty edge. "You want that scum in your home?"  
"What choice do we have?" Ron asked exasperatedly, throwing his hands up. "You've all sat here and argued and you still don't have an answer, and there's no point, because the Ministry will do what they fucking want anyway, just like they have since the war ended."  
  
There was a loud huff and suddenly their mother was on her feet.  
  
"Ronald, don't use that language in my kitchen. You'll tarnish the silver. End of discussion. Draco Malfoy will be a guest in this house as requested by the Ministry."  
"Prisoner," someone corrected.  
"Prisoner, guest – I don't care. As long as it gets my boy home to me safely."  
  
Topic closed, she bustled to the cupboard and started loudly pulling pots out with which to make dinner. Ron looked at her back and listened to the hush she had managed to instil over the angry room. Grateful for the silence, he got to his feet and stretched. His spine elongated, relieving tension he hadn't noticed building in his neck. Something crunched and he winced.  
  
"You shouldn't be making noises like that," Hermione said reproachfully, reaching up to rub her hand across his back.  
  
Ron enjoyed the touch, like a warm sponge washing across his skin. He let her continue for a moment before turning his eyes upward and then looking at her, hinting.  
  
"I'm just going to nip upstairs for something," he murmured pointedly.  
  
The air cooled significantly as he began to climb away from the kitchen, his long legs enabling him to go two, three steps at a time. He pushed through the door to his childhood bedroom and didn't bother to light any candles. The night outside was clear and moonlight was conveniently flooding the carpet enough for a pleasant glow to fill the room. He heard footsteps on the stairs and waited, sitting down on the edge of his bed. The door creaked open and she slipped inside, sitting next to him in an instant.  
  
"Well, you took that well." Hermione's comment was dry and Ron could tell she was smiling.  
"Don't really know what to think, to be honest," Ron muttered. "It's not like the Ministry will change their minds, so bellyaching about it won't get us anywhere."  
"But it's Draco Malfoy... in your house..." Hermione pointed out.  
"I know that."  
"What about your sudden urges to strangle him?"  
  
Ron laughed and shook his head. "I'll just have to learn to control them. I s'pose I have an incentive now... he dies, Charlie dies."  
"Charlie isn't going to die," Hermione said, putting on her best soothing effort. One of her hands spread across Ron's thigh, causing his pulse to quicken. "He won't."  
"I don't want to lose another one." Ron knew he didn't have to explain what he meant.  
"You won't."  
  
Ron accepted her warm kiss on his cheek and tried to take pleasure from it, like he did from the touches. As ever, he came up short. He took a deep breath and turned his face so that he could kiss her lips. Their noses clashed. They stopped the kiss and looked at one another.  
  
"It's still not right, is it?" Hermione whispered sadly.  
"No," Ron agreed. "I don't know... but you don't feel it either, do you?"  
"Feel what?"  
" _It._ "  
  
Hermione sighed. "No, I suppose I don't."  
"Are we doing it wrong?" Ron suggested with half a smile.  
  
It was Hermione's turn to grin and she shook her head. "No... I think this is correct..."  
"Then what the fuck is wrong with us?"  
"Language."  
"Don't be my mother now, Hermione. Please."  
"Maybe that's why it's not working?" she giggled, uncharacteristically, and tweaked the end of his nose.  
  
One of her hands laid on top of his and their fingers laced together.  
  
"We can keep at it."  
"We've kept at it for three months."  
"Are you seriously saying you hate kissing me that much, Ron?"  
"I don't hate it." Ron exhaled hard, into her face. "But it doesn't feel like it did that first time. None of it does. I waited fucking years to be able to hold your hand," he shook it for emphasis, "and now it just doesn't feel like I'm meant to."  
"Then maybe you're not." Hermione shrugged. "I don't know what's going on either, Ron. I've loved you for a very long time... too long. Maybe it was too long?"  
  
Ron copied her and shrugged. He felt his face colouring as his mind flashed through their failed attempts at sex. He'd been surprised when she'd said yes. He'd had visions of having to wait for marriage. When she'd boldly grabbed his cock through his jeans and told him not to be stupid, he'd been pleasantly corrected.  
  
"Do you love me?" Hermione murmured, her lips close to his.  
"Yes," Ron confessed, closing his eyes. "But not like I think I'm meant to."  
"Then I think we've probably got our answer."  
  
When he looked, Hermione's eyes were full of remorse. There was pain there, too, but mainly remorse and worry. Again, he wondered how his own looked at that moment.  
  
"We should have done it sooner," he blurted. "Then this wouldn't have happened."  
"Maybe this is how it's supposed to happen."  
"Maybe." Ron licked his lower lip. "So now what... do we tell anyone... do we... I dunno. Mum might lose it completely if we announce that, actually, we aren't going to get married and have lots of babies."  
"Were we ever going to do that?" Hermione laughed.  
"She thought we were."  
"Well, we both know your mum can get carried away."  
  
They looked at each other and burst out laughing.  
  
"Tell nobody," Ron decided. "Let's just... say nothing and then... then when anyone mentions it, say we're not sure. Definitely not while this whole shit with Charlie is going on. Nobody needs anything else to stress about."  
"Least of all you," Hermione agreed. She reached up and pushed his hair out of his eyes. "Oh... well, it'll take me a while to get out of the habit of touching you."  
"I'll miss it," Ron admitted. "That's why I don't get this. Why isn't it working when I like you touching me?"  
  
Hermione shook her head. "There isn't an answer for everything."  
"See, that's even fucking scarier, because you normally _do_ have an answer for everything."  
  
Hermione kissed him on the forehead, and left the room.  
  
***  
  
"You'll be staying in Percy's old room."  
  
Malfoy said nothing as he was shown the room. Ron stood with his arms folded over his chest. They had redecorated it, given the bed a few plumping charms and bought some new linen for it. It was nicer than _his_ room, but from the look on the blond's face, it wasn't good enough. Ron waited for the anger to come, for the prickling sensation which normally turned up when Draco Malfoy insulted his family. Nothing happened.  
  
"The loo is just along there," Molly said, gesturing with her hand. "A bath and a shower and whatever you need, just ask. One of us will have it, somewhere, you can guarantee."  
  
She patted his arm reassuringly and was met with a cool stare in response. Quickly withdrawing her hand, Molly looked uneasily at the Auror accompanying them. Ron saw the glances they swapped.  
  
"Well, Malfoy, think yourself lucky it's not a prison cell on a rock," the Auror said forcefully. "Believe me, there were plenty of people who wanted to dump you there."  
"For my father's indiscretion?" The blond rolled his eyes. "Please. Even this lot of blood-traitors would have had to admit that imprisonment would have been a gross injustice."  
"This _lot of blood-traitors_ are doing you a bloody favour, sunshine," the Auror spat. "So be grateful, why don't you?"  
"Be grateful for incarceration in a home which might not stand up for much longer? I think I'd rather have Azkaban."  
  
Again, Ron waited for the loathing to creep over him. It remained absent. He watched the scene impassively, waiting for it to be over so that he could go back to his room and listen to the Quidditch on the wireless.  
  
"Why don't you get yourself settled?" Molly tried again, forcing some brightness into her tone and opening the door to Percy's old room a little further. "I'll call you for dinner."  
"I won't be eating," Draco informed her, his voice growing colder with each word.  
  
He crossed the threshold and shut the door behind him. There was silence from within the room. None of them spoke.  
  
"Arrogant little-" the Auror began.  
"He's bound to be like that," Molly said firmly. "His father will be arrested as soon as this is all over. He's frightened for his future and for his family."  
"Still, he should have more manners."  
"He'll be fine."  
  
Ron noticed the look of disbelief on the Auror's face and had to stifle his laugh.  
  
***  
  
"He must be starving."  
"So what if he is?" George snorted. "Let him starve."  
  
There was a loud huff from the oven and Ron didn't look up from the battered, already-read-by-five-people copy of the Prophet he was staring blankly at. He'd scoured the article about Charlie's abduction five times, but he couldn't give a fuck about anything else that was going on.  
  
"Ron, why don't you go and try at his door?"  
  
George laughed again. "Out of all of us, he's definitely not going to let Ron do him any favours."  
"I'll try," Ron said automatically, rising from his seat. If anything, he was glad to escape the kitchen, where his mother's fretting and his brother's bitterness were starting to set his teeth on edge. "He's got to eat at some point."  
  
He took the wooden tray, mostly known as the Sick Tray, from his mother and looked at the dinner on it. He could remember that tray being lovingly placed over his lap when he was little and poorly. He could almost feel the tender touch of his mum's hand on his hair.  
  
He shivered, wishing he could be that tiny again, where his only problem was what Fred and George were going to do to him next. Swallowing, he turned from the kitchen and started up the stairs, careful not to spill any of the pumpkin juice which accompanied the cooling chicken, ham and mushroom pie and homemade chips.  
  
When he reached Percy's old bedroom door, he dumbly stared at it, wondering how best to knock when his hands were full. Instead he kicked the bottom twice with his foot. "Malfoy, it's me. Open the door."  
  
Ron was stunned when it opened. He'd thought he'd have to kick it down to get Malfoy to answer.  
  
"If you don't eat soon," Ron advised, "She's going to come up here, strap you to the bed, and force feed it to you with a spoon. So fucking take the tray."  
  
He shoved it at him, his previous good effort ruined when a huge slurp of juice crashed over the rim of the glass and flooded the tray.  
  
"Bollocks," he muttered, stepping forward and dipping the sleeve of his jumper to mop up what he could of the orange puddle. "Sorry. Don't think it went on the plate though."  
  
Ron squeezed the wool of the jumper to stop the juice trickling up his arm. It landed silently on the carpet beneath his feet. Only then did he look up and notice Malfoy's eyes, wide and grey, staring at him. He blushed. "What?"  
"Why aren't you being your usual self, Weasley?" There was suspicion in the tone. "Why aren't you knocking me about like my father's knocking your brother about?"  
"If that's all your father's doing to my brother then I'll count myself lucky," Ron advised, trying to calm his suddenly rising pulse.  
  
There was a dry laugh and Malfoy shook his head. "You have no idea."  
"Tell us then. Tell us what he's doing."  
"So you can do the same in return to me? I doubt any of you have got it in you."  
"What's that meant to mean?"  
  
Draco smiled at Ron's frown. He turned into the room and set the tray of food down on the small bedside table. Ron could see the creases in the blankets where they'd been laid upon.  
  
The blond sauntered back to the door and leant across the frame. His arms came up to protect his body, almost cuddling himself, Ron noticed.  
  
"My father is not a nice man," he said finally. "In more ways you could ever dream."  
"How so?" Ron shoved his hand in his pocket and clenched his fist, trying not to let anger get the better of him whilst Malfoy was giving him vital information.  
"Why do you think placing me here is going to do your precious brother any good at all, when my father's favourite activity is physically chastising his own son?"  
  
Ron swallowed, flicking through his mental dictionary as to what 'chastising' might mean.  
  
"This is a holiday for me," Malfoy went on, with a shrug of his shoulders. "A holiday from the abuse. But your brother is in hell."  
  
With that, the door closed again, leaving Ron confused and frightened on the threshold.  
  
***  
  
 _"Do you like that, boy?"  
  
A muffled answer was all that could be heard. In the dim light, it was still blatant what was going on. Strong legs were tethered at the ankle to a pole laid horizontally behind the man's neck, next to which his wrists were also tied. He was on his back, leaving everything exposed. Some sort of root protruded from between two reddened buttocks, on which dark stripes spread over the skin.  
  
"Do you like the sting, boy? Clench." When nothing happened, a hard blow from a wooden, unforgiving paddle slapped hard into the already-injured flesh, and then the stocky body jerked, and a howl could be heard from deep behind the tight gag on the man's face. "You will do as I tell you, when I tell you, boy. Do you understand me?"  
  
A whimper was all the answer the man received. Another blow fell._  
  
***  
  
Ron jerked upright in bed, gasping at the air. Fear coursed through his veins as sweat dampened his hair. He tried to shift and found himself trapped in his sheets, but as warm stickiness squelched in his crotch, he leant over the side of the bed, and vomited.  
  
The images refused to leave his mind as he retched: seeing Charlie tied up, screaming behind the gag, Lucius Malfoy grinning maniacally as he delivered each blow with precision and intent. Ron didn't want to acknowledge the sticky pool of liquid which had shone on Charlie's belly, above his bound cock. He wanted even less to acknowledge the sticky come in his own pyjamas, which surely, he tried to convince himself, had to have come from earlier in the night. There was no way he could have found that sort of abuse enjoyable – was there?  
  
With a final heave, he forced himself upright, his head pounding. The carpet was a mess and the stench of sick rose up to meet him, making his stomach turn again. He managed to struggle out of the bedclothes and stand up, but his legs were weak and he had to hold onto the side of the bed to keep from falling. His damp pyjama bottoms stuck to him tellingly.  
  
"Fuck," he whispered, tears springing to his eyes.  
  
***  
  
Ron didn't sleep again that night. As quietly as he could, he had cleaned the carpet with Magical Mess Remover retrieved from the kitchen, and opened the window to the cold November air to release the strong scent of the cleaner.  
  
He had then crept downstairs again, to the nearest bathroom of the three his parents had managed to install in the poky old house (two since the war with the reparation money which had been gifted to each and every one of them by the Ministry). And there he stood, letting the shower pound down on his head, carrying away the traces of his sperm and indecency, but failing to drag the memories down the plug hole with them. He swallowed on a hot throat and wondered what he should do or say. He didn't even know if what he had seen was real or just his imagination making up the worst after speaking to Malfoy that afternoon. He had no idea.  
  
What was disturbing him the most, however, was his body's reaction to the dream. He had come from watching what Lucius Malfoy was doing – sexually torturing- his older brother. He could still hear the muffled screams. Equally, he could still see the sticky pool of pre-come which had gathered on his brother's ample belly. Everything seemed to scream in his mind then, and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He pounded a fist against the tiled wall, biting his lip to keep his confused cry in.  
  
"What are you doing here in the middle of the night?" A solemn voice came out of nowhere. Ron jumped and banged his head against the shower unit. He yanked back the curtain, too shocked to care about his nakedness, and saw Malfoy standing there, still dressed as he had been on arrival, but looking paler and with reddened eyes. Ron stared at him for a long moment whilst he thought about what to say.  
  
What should he do, he wondered? Should he offer condolences? Was that what Draco had meant by a holiday? That his father usually did such things to _him_? Finally, he managed to corral his thoughts sufficiently to turn the shower off, and reached for a towel to wrap around his waist. He immediately began to shiver as he climbed out of the bath.  
  
"It's my house," he croaked finally. "I can be wherever I like in it in the middle of the night."  
"Right." Malfoy's voice was soft, almost broken. "You didn't lock the door so I just..."  
  
Ron shook his head, not wanting an apology.  
  
"When you said about your father..." Ron asked tentatively, "What did you mean?"  
"What I meant." The answer was simple. "Would you like a dictionary to look up chastisement?"  
"Well, yeah, actually, I bloody would," Ron said hotly. "Because if it's anything like what I've just seen him do to my brother, I might lose the plot."  
"What did you see?"  
  
Draco Malfoy suddenly seemed much paler, even to his lips. The blood seemed to simply drain from his face. He visibly shivered.  
  
"I can't talk about it." Ron looked down at his feet, focussing on the stupid shape of his big toe to avoid having to look at Malfoy.  
"Was it the cane, the paddle, the bench, the wax?" Malfoy whispered, his voice tremulous.  
"Why the _fuck_ didn't you say anything?" Ron hissed, his temper, which had been so absurdly absent, flaring to life at that moment.  
  
His hand flew to Draco's throat and slammed his entire body against the closed bathroom door.  
  
"If you knew he would do this to him, why didn't you fucking say, Malfoy? We could have just raided the place, got him back and now he wouldn't be going through this... this..."  
"Torture?"  
  
The word was supplied in a dead tone. Ron nodded, unable to keep hatred from twisting his expression.  
  
"Would you want your mother to know that?" Draco whispered. "Would you want her to know what he's doing to him? What he's practised on me for years? That I don't have a single shred of hair left on my body other than on my head? That he dresses me up as a girl and makes me parade around for him and comes on my face?"  
  
"What kind of sick fuck is he?" Ron blanched.  
"A sick fuck," Draco repeated coolly. "And he'll be enjoying every second of what he's doing to your brother, make no mistake."  
"We've got to do something."  
"If you tell anyone, if a single Ministry foot lands on the boundary line of the Manor, he will kill him. And it won't be a nice, quick, Avada Kedavra. It'll be slow, excruciating and mortifying."  
"Why didn't you tell the Ministry that putting you here wouldn't do anything then?!"  
  
There was a short, dry laugh. "Weasley, if your father had tied you down..." Suddenly, Ron's hand was grabbed and plunged down the front of the smart, expensive trousers Malfoy wore. "And shaved your cock, and your balls, and your crack and your every last hair which made you a man..." Ron shuddered as he felt bare, soft, hairless skin beneath his fingers. "Would you fucking tell anyone? Would you?"  
"My father would never do that," Ron whispered back simply.  
"Well mine would, and does, regularly. It's humiliating and if you think for one second I'm going to spill that for all the world to hear, just to save one of your brothers which you have coming out of your fucking ears, you've got another thing coming."  
  
Ron looked him in the eye then, unable to really process what he was hearing. When Malfoy began to react beneath his fingers, however, Ron jumped and glared at him. "Well you don't have to now. I can. I'll tell the-"  
  
His breath was knocked out of his lungs as he landed on the bathroom tiles and Draco slammed down on top of him. His face was shoved roughly to one side and a wand tip jabbed into his throat.  
  
"You tell anyone and you're dead. Do you understand me, Weasley?"  
" _You_ told _me_!" Ron managed to get out wildly. "What did you think I would fucking do?!"  
  
His neck cricked dangerously as his chin was grabbed and yanked so that he faced the blond again, who was much closer than he had been before.  
  
"I've kept this secret for years. I don't give a fuck what's going on in your head, or how you saw what you saw, but you're telling nobody. Do you understand me, Weasley? Or do I have to make you?"  
"Make me how?" Ron almost laughed, but instead the words came out cockily. He saw anger sear in Malfoy's eyes.  
  
"Like father like son," Draco spat.  
  
Ron choked at the tongue which pushed into his mouth. He could tell from the taste that Malfoy had caved and eaten the tray of food that Ron had taken to him. Harsh hands pinned his wrists to the floor by his head and he let out a gasp as bony hips ground down into his own.  
  
He tried to snatch a breath, to gather his strength and thoughts, to see how he could escape the situation. He was just about to throw it all to hell and shove Malfoy off him, when the man on top of his body seemed to deflate. Where there had been only seconds before a furious, powerful wizard, laid a slender figure, almost child-like, with an expression of that of a beaten animal.  
  
"I didn't..." Draco murmured, but failed to finish his sentence.  
  
Ron somehow knew, but didn't know how. He laid there, his spine protesting at the cold bathroom floor, but didn't push Malfoy away.  
  
"You were in the shower because what you saw... it got you off, didn't it?" Draco asked.  
  
Ron didn't answer. His blush did that for him.  
  
"Me too," Draco whispered, mortified, and shoved his face into Ron's throat.  
  
***  
  
"Oh, for Godric's sake," Ron shouted, gripping the hair at his temples and tugging. "Why are you showing me this? _Why_?"  
  
He felt like he was on fire. His throat was dry, his eyes were blurred and his cock was throbbing. For the fifth night in a row he had just awoken from witnessing another round of sexual tormenting between his brother and his captor. For the fifth night in a row, he had awoken with a sticky crotch and the shame that, despite the depravity of it, he'd got some kicks from his brother's torture.  
  
Ron swallowed and looked at the window, finding it surprisingly bright outside. A look at the clock told him he had massively overslept; he should have been in the shop helping George as he'd promised. The floor was moving as his bedroom door banged open, and his mother stood on the threshold, looking concerned.  
  
"I could hear you all the way from the kitchen," she said, crossing the room and perching on the edge of the bed.  
  
He wanted to squirm away from her due to what was barely hidden by his blankets, but he knew she would notice. Instead he remained deadly still as she reached up and brushed his hair off his brow.  
  
"Another nightmare?" she asked sympathetically. "You should just take some Dreamless Sleep-"  
"No!" Ron said, too harshly. He saw his mother wince. "No... I don't think that's going to help."  
  
The actuality of it was that he didn't think he could bear the thought of not knowing what was happening to Charlie, even though the truth was terrifying him. At least Charlie had someone who knew how bad it was.  
  
"Ron..." her voice gave a slight wobble as she said his name. "Ron... the last few days... you've not been right."  
"None of us have been right," he pointed out.  
"I know, but you've been... jumpy. Frightened. You would tell me, wouldn't you, if there was something wrong? Something you knew that the rest of us didn't?"  
  
Cursing her skills of perception to Hades, Ron forced himself to nod. "I promise, I'd tell you. But there's nothing. I just... I just miss him." He shrugged. "I want him back just like the rest of you."  
  
With a reproving look and a sigh, his mother got back to her feet. "Change of plan today, which is why I let you sleep. George doesn't need your help in the shop as Percy's offered. I, on the other hand, need to go shopping or we'll be eating nothing but dust for the next few weeks."  
"I'll come with you," Ron offered, making to get out of the bed.  
"No, you need to stay with Draco."  
"Oh, what?" Ron whined.  
"You know the rules. He can't be left unattended. Someone has to be in the house with him at all times."  
"I'll go shopping for you then," Ron urged, suddenly finding himself desperate to get out of the house.  
"You're sweet, Ronnie. But I need to get out of these walls before I end up in St. Mungo's."  
  
Forcing a laugh, Ron nodded. With a final, mothering glance at him, Molly left the bedroom. Ron stayed put until he could no longer hear her footsteps on the stairs of the house.  
  
"Great," he muttered, chucking back the bed covers. "Another day staying in with someone who won't say a fucking word."  
  
Draco had not said so much as a 'please' or 'thank you' to Ron since the night in the bathroom. At first it had infuriated him, then it had upset him, but Ron found himself just plain bored with the situation as it stood. He didn't know what to do to change it, but also didn't know if he really wanted to. He had touched parts of Draco Malfoy that he had never thought about touching more, and learnt more of his past than he had ever wanted to know. Pity, however, still tingled in his blood as he thought about the things that Draco had told him.  
  
***  
  
Freshly washed and dressed, Ron sat in the sitting room in front of the fire he'd made from hand, just to have something to do. He watched with manly satisfaction as each log caught and crackled a little more, casting a warm glow over the darkened room. The paper was open in his lap but he wasn't reading it. A noise dinged through the room, alerting him to an imminent arrival through the Floo. Ron stayed still, keeping his feet up on the coffee table, looking expectantly at the grate. It wasn't long before Harry popped into view and kicked the soot from his boots onto the hearth.  
  
“I still hate doing that,” he advised, as he stepped onto the carpet. “Afraid I'll get burnt to bloody ashes.”  
“When I was little, I used to think I might end up somewhere wrong and land in a real fire,” Ron said, morosely. “I'm just about over that, though.”  
  
Harry flopped down on the sofa opposite him and tipped his head back to rest on the cushions. “Do you ever wish that life had been normal? That we had gone to Hogwarts, passed some of our exams, failed the others, and left like normal kids?”  
“All the time.” Ron folded the paper up and chucked it away.  
“I wish we could have had that,” Harry said sadly. “And now...”  
“Now what?”  
“Now I've got my own bloody personal shadow.” Harry huffed and looked to his right.  
  
Ron jumped. “Fuck.”  
“Weasley, have you never seen a member of the spirit world before?” Snape asked dryly.  
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Ron asked Harry, eyes still wide.  
“I don't know,” Harry grunted through gritted teeth. “He turned up the night that Charlie was taken and hasn't fucked off since.”  
“But you wanted all those discussions with him-”  
“We've had them, Weasley. Many times. It seems Potter only wanted my company on his terms.”  
  
Ron snorted. “Sounds like Harry.”  
“Don't be a knob, Ron.”  
“Why change the habit of a lifetime?” Snape suggested airily.  
“Are you going to offer me a cup of tea or what?” Harry asked, clearly fed up.  
“I would, but that would mean getting up.” Ron made a grimace. “You're on your own, mate, but if you're making, I'll have one.”  
“You'll have my fist in your gob,” Harry muttered, getting to his feet and stomping to the kitchen.  
  
Both Ron and Snape watched him go. Ron snorted with laughter and shook his head. Snape merely looked at him.  
  
“Didn't think you were the type to stick around,” Ron commented dryly, folding his arms across his chest. “Seemed you were pretty happy to go, in the end.”  
“If only the lines between the living and the dead were as black and white as you seem to believe.” Snape's opalescent body paced to the fire. “I'll not beat about the bush, Weasley. I'm here because of what's going on with your brother. I am the only person who has ever been able to make Lucius Malfoy see reason. And his son, for that matter – he is, after all, my godson.”  
“Oh, well, go and tell him to fucking eat then,” Ron suggested, tossing a filthy look upwards at the ceiling.  
  
Ron leant back against the sofa as Snape came very close to him, putting his ghostly face near to Ron's living one.  
  
“Being dead gives one horrific clarity, Weasley. _I know._ ”  
“You do?” Ron asked weakly. “You...”  
“And I'm going to try and help. I've explained none of this to Potter. I've let him think my reappearance is some kind of mawkish desire to set the past right, to let him thank me.” Snape visibly shuddered. “But you know. And for now, I think what's best is if we keep what we know to ourselves. I know,” he held up one pearly hand as Ron opened his mouth to protest, “That it seems barbaric to you. That you don't want to see your brother like that. Don't want to think of it happening.”  
“I don't want to think of what's happened to him, either,” Ron admitted, with another look at the ceiling.  
“Draco is more fragile than you could ever speculate because of what Lucius has been putting him through since the age of seven.”  
“ _Seven?_ ” Ron breathed. “When I was seven I was going to work with my dad and he was buying me bags of chips on the way home and telling me not to tell my mum.” He shook his head. “How could he do that... to his own son?”  
“Lucius has never known or cared about boundaries,” Severus said, his tone curt. “It is not just Draco that he has abused over the years. But that is not for this discussion. Do I have your word, Weasley, that you will say nothing, and that you will let Draco come to you if he so wishes?”  
“He won't.”  
“He will.”  
“Does being dead also make you a seer?” Ron asked sarcastically.  
“It gives a certain lucidity, yes.”  
“Is Charlie going to come back out of this alive?”  
  
Snape's ghostly form straightened up and his facial expression hardened. “From what I have seen, your brother will never come home.”  
“Dress it up, why don't you?” Ron almost choked on the words.  
  
The dead man was suddenly back in his face again. “Why _should_ I dress it up? Charlie is sending you the sights he is sending you because he wants you to see, he wants you to understand his pain. But he doesn't want you to do anything foolish and he certainly doesn't want you to walk into the same hell.”  
“How the fuck would you know?”  
“Because, you thick dolt, the wards of Malfoy Manor do not apply to the dead.”  
  
It took Ron a moment to fully comprehend what Snape had said, and by the time he could formulate a question, Harry was back, two steaming mugs of tea in his hand.  
  
“Fighting?” he asked warily, looking between them. “Please, it was bad enough when one of you wasn't dead.”  
“Not fighting,” Ron said dully.  
“Just a discussion,” Snape agreed, with a meaningful look in Ron's direction.  
  
Ron nodded in response.  
  
“Would you mind escorting me to Draco?” Snape asked politely. “I think I should try to reach out to him.”  
“Yeah, 'cause that worked well in the past.”  
“Potter, shut up.”  
“Don't 'Potter' me, you're dead, you're not my professor any more, and I don't care if you did love my fucking mother, a few manners wouldn't go amiss.”  
  
Ron snorted and pushed himself to his feet. Snape followed him wordlessly as he stepped out into the hallway and started up the stairs. It was odd to feel the man's presence behind him but hear no sound. They climbed to the second floor and walked along the landing. Ron knocked on Draco's door, not surprised when there was silence from within.  
  
“Malfoy, there's someone here to see you.”  
“Who?”  
“Not from the Ministry, if that helps.” Ron rolled his eyes.  
“Draco, it's me.” Snape's voice softened considerably and Ron realised he had never heard the man sound so amenable. “Open the door.”  
  
And open the door did. Draco had at least changed his clothes at last, Ron noted, and the room smelt a lot fresher than the last time he had been in it two days before to press more food on the blond on his mother's insistence.  
  
“Leave us,” Snape instructed.  
  
Ron thought about retorting with something about not being given commands in his own home, but decided against it, and walked away.  
  
***  
  
 _Seven._  
  
The age kept whispering through Ron's mind. Seven years old. When he thought of how innocent he had been at the age of seven, and tried to think how he would have responded to someone abusing him as Draco had been abused, much more sense seemed to be made of Draco Malfoy than ever before. The bullying behaviour. Blindly following his parents' allegiance to You-Know-Who.  
  
A shiver passed through him as he took his place at the dinner table. There were only a few of them that night. Harry had gone back to Grimmauld Place. Ginny was with him. Percy was with his mysterious girlfriend, who they were yet to meet, and Bill was with Fleur. That left himself, George, Teddy the baby, and their parents.  
  
It was a surprise, therefore, when there were footsteps on the stairs and Draco appeared in the kitchen doorway.  
  
“May I join you for dinner?” he asked quietly, surveying the bodies at the table.  
“Of course!” Ron gave silent credit to his mum for the way she hid her surprise. “Sit down, and I'll get you a plate. Would you like a drink, dear?”  
“Just some water, please."  
  
Draco sat down uneasily, shooting a furtive look at Ron across the table. Ron looked at George and found his expression stony; what was odd was that their father's was much the same.  
  
“There you are,” Molly said soothingly, placing a plate laden with far too much food on the table in front of her guest. “There's more if you want it.”  
  
They all knew that Draco probably wouldn't eat even half of what she had already given him, but said nothing as he politely picked up his fork and began to eat. At a pointed glare from his mother, Ron began to do the same, enjoying the rich taste of the stew as it melted in his mouth.  
  
“So good,” he moaned through the mouthful, spearing a dumpling with his fork.  
“Don't talk with your mouth full. Anyone would think you'd been dragged up by wolves.”  
“Bill's a half a wolf,” Ron supplied unhelpfully, after swallowing.  
  
Between them they continued an odd, completely random conversation throughout the rest of the dinner. Nobody else spoke. Draco barely ate. George stared at his plate. Within an alarmingly quick period of time, Ron jumped as the clatter of a fork hitting china sounded through the room, and the back door slammed shut behind his father.  
  
“What's-?” he asked, looking bewilderedly at his mother.  
“Don't.” She jerked her head and said nothing more. She continued with her own food and so Ron followed suit, wondering what else might be wrong in the wonky old walls of their house that evening.  
  
Eventually, however, the food was gone, Draco had only eaten half a plate and George drifted away, disinterested.  
  
“Why don't you two go and see if there's any Quidditch on the Wireless?” Molly suggested as she turned to the sink, ready to wash up.  
“Don't you want help?” Ron frowned.  
“No, no, I can do all this.”  
“I would like a walk,” Draco said quietly.  
“One of us has to accompany you.” Ron made a face at the rough wind outside the house.  
“Fresh air will do you the world of good,” Molly chimed in and Ron pulled another face. He wasn't sure, but he thought he might have seen a small quirk at the side of Draco's mouth.  
  
“Oh fine,” he muttered, getting to his feet. “But not for long. It's freezing.”  
  
He shrugged into his coat and did it up, pulling a scarf from the nearest hook, not caring who it belonged to. He waited for the blond to get ready and then pulled open the back door, to be met with a cold blast of wind in his face.  
  
“Are you sure you need a walk?” He asked over his shoulder.  
“I'm going mad in that room all by myself. Why do you think I came down for dinner?” Malfoy answered sullenly.  
“Well, I thought Mum was going to have a heart attack.”  
  
They walked in silence down to the fence which marked the Weasley boundary, and where the wards stopped. “We can't go past here,” Ron informed him. “Otherwise you break the terms of the agreement.”  
“I didn't really have much to do with it, so I don't see how you can call it an agreement,” Draco pointed out, but turned and began to walk along the fence, towards the orchard.  
“No, it's pretty shit, I'll give you that.” Ron snuggled deeper into his coat. “So... how are you... finding it?”  
“How do you think I'm finding it?” Draco sneered.  
“Look, if you're just going to be a sarcastic prick, I'm going back now. And if you want to abscond and get locked up, then it'll be your own fucking fault.” Ron took a few steps to make his point. Draco stared at him.  
“Abscond. That's a big word for you, Weasley.”  
“Fuck you.”  
“That's more like what I remember.”  
  
The cold was making his fingers tingle, and Ron started walking to keep his circulation going. They made their way through the trees, into the orchard, ducking under the low branches of the mostly bare trees, crunching over the leaves on the floor.  
  
“I broke my wrist falling out of that tree when I was eight,” Ron blurted, pointing to one of the larger trees which bore no fruit, but happened to be in the middle of their orchard anyway. “I say fell. Fred pushed me.”  
“Do I look like I care?” Draco asked seriously.  
“I'm just trying to make conversation.”  
  
They walked further into the orchard, stepping through dark shadows and listening to the wind blowing above them.  
  
“What's that?” Draco asked suddenly, nodding towards the back of the grass.  
“Oh... that's Fred.”  
“You buried him in your garden?” Draco asked, sounding mildly horrified.  
“Where else would we bury him?” Ron laughed. “Up there all alone in the cemetery at Hogwarts? I don't think so. No, he belongs at home.”  
“But you have to see him...”  
“We want to see him.”  
“I think the dead should stay out of the way,” Draco said bitterly.  
“Oh, so... s'pose you weren't too happy with your visitor today then?”  
  
They continued walking, nearing Fred's grave. Ron noticed the flowers at the base had wilted slightly and reached down for them when he could. He twisted them and threw them into the foliage backing onto the orchard. He pulled out his wand and gently grew another bunch with magic.  
  
“He's been poking his ugly nose into my business since I was a child. I never wanted to see him again. He tried to correct my path so many times... and I never listened.”  
“So he makes you regret?”  
“He makes me sad.”  
  
Ron glanced up at the emotion on Draco's face and panicked, knowing he was under-equipped for such a conversation. After a few seconds, Draco seemed to sense this and straightened up.  
  
“Not that it's any of your fucking business, Weasley.”  
“Well considering that my brother is going through Godric only knows what at the hands of your good old dad, it actually is kind of my business, twat.”  
“What did you call me?”  
“I called you a twat.”  
“Call me that again and I'll hex you so hard you're drinking through a straw for the rest of your life.”  
“Hex me into hospital and yourself into a nice, damp cell in Azkaban. Your choice, Malfoy. Is it worth it?”  
“I'm not sure.”  
“Give me one good reason not to go to the Ministry right now and tell them what he's doing to Charlie, what he's done to you since you were fucking SEVEN!” Ron shouted, his voice echoing around the orchard.  
  
“How did you know that?”  
“I... um... I guessed?” Ron tried pathetically.  
“HOW DID YOU KNOW?” Draco thundered. “Who told you?!”  
  
Ron wondered how, for the second time that week, Draco Malfoy had managed to grab hold of him, this time by the throat, without much effort. There was clearly more strength in his puny frame than there looked to be. Cold fingers tightened about his windpipe and shook him.  
  
“S-Snape told me.”  
“Snape couldn't have known.”  
“He knows. He's been inside the Manor.”  
“What?”  
“He's dead. The wards don't apply to ghosts. He's been in. He's seen Charlie. He knows why Charlie is showing me... he says he's not going to come home.”  
“But how did he know that I was...” Draco skipped the age. “When it started? How?”  
“It gives some sort of sight, I don't know. But he said he knew. He said I needed to keep it quiet and you've gone and made me...”  
  
Draco released his grip then and staggered away, his movements like those of a lost blind man. Ron followed cautiously, and reached out just in time before Draco tripped over a tree root poking out of the ground. They fell in an ungraceful heap, though, shielding each other's falls. The wind knocked out of him, Ron remained sprawled on his front. Draco was next to him on his back.  
  
“I was seven...” he whispered. “I'd only spilt my water at dinner... and then he dragged me off and...”  
  
His eyes closed with pain. Ron swallowed awkwardly on the sympathy he felt. Oddly, he felt proud of himself. There had been times in his life where he had thought he would wish the worst things in the world onto Draco Malfoy, and enjoy watching him suffer.  
  
But there was nothing enjoyable about the pain on his face. Nothing enjoyable about a father abusing his own child. Nothing which could make it any less horrific than the truth made it.  
  
“Draco...” He made a point of using his first name. “Does he still do this to you?”  
“Sometimes.”  
“You know, you don't have to go back? Ever. You can just walk away now.”  
“I can't,” Draco ground out.  
“Why not?”  
“Because if I do, then he'll murder your brother.”  
“And you care about that?” Ron asked, surprised.  
“I know in your head, Weasley, it must be hard to see me as anything but a minion of the Dark Lord, but I'm not what you think I am, and I'm certainly not my father.”  
  
Silence brewed between them.  
  
“The other night in the bathroom, you said 'like father like son'...” Ron murmured.  
“I was off my head.” Draco let out a dry laugh. “The thought of someone else knowing about his... perversions... my perversions... it pushed me too far. I'm... I'm sorry, for the way I kissed you.”  
“Don't be.”  
  
There was a dry laugh.  
  
“Oh, of course, I'm not the only one who got off on that little show.” Draco's tone took on a sneer. “So do you fancy all your brothers, queer boy, or just Charlie?”  
“I'm not queer!” Ron protested hotly.  
“Neither am I, but I've been fucked senseless by a man for more than half my life and now I'm stuck in the mode. You got off on what you saw.”  
“And I've never been more fucking disturbed by anything!” Ron cried. “If you had brothers... to watch them be treated like that... I've been so fucked up all week.”  
  
He broke off and stuffed his face in the grass, trying to inhale the damp scent to calm himself.  
  
“I'm not queer,” he repeated. “I'm not.”  
“Then where's Granger?”  
“I'm not with her either.”  
  
Hands rolled him, placed on his shoulders. Draco looked down at him. “Then could you try being queer? For me?”  
“Why would I?” Ron laughed. “You hate me. You hate my family. You've treated me like shit for every year I've ever known you. And now because this is all going on, you're in my house, you're in our protection, you want me to bat for the other Quidditch team just because you're stuck in gay mode?!”  
  
Draco looked at him for a long time before he spoke. “Or maybe it's because all those years I was vile to you, I wanted you.”  
“Oh like fuck,” Ron snorted, and rolled to get up.  
  
He was pinned in place by Draco's body.  
  
“Every summer, I would go home from Hogwarts terrified,” Draco whispered, leaning down so that he could talk into Ron's ear. “I was frightened because I knew that the first night was going to be hell. He'd been without me for weeks. Sometimes he would take me out of school for a weekend to do what he wanted with me... but when he didn't... I would still have scars from that first night by the time the start of the autumn term rolled around.”  
“Where was your mum when all this was going on? Why didn't she stop him?”  
“Do you honestly think that she could have, if she'd even known?”  
“She didn't know?”  
“I was too ashamed to tell her and... if she ever suspected, she was clever enough to keep her mouth shut.”  
“That's-”  
“Don't bother starting on my mother. Her part in this isn't up for discussion.”  
“Did he abuse her?”  
“I don't know. Maybe, before I was born. But that's not what this is about.”  
“What's it about then?” Ron huffed, starting to grow colder and his hips were aching from lying on the floor. They hadn't quite recovered from the bathroom floor not long before.  
  
“It's about me wanting to kiss you,” Draco murmured, bending so close that their noses touched. “It's about me wanting you to put right every wrong touch my father ever laid on me.”  
“You hate me,” Ron said emphatically. “You would have let me die had you had the chance.”  
“But you didn't let me die, did you?” Draco said. “You could have just left me there in that burning hell... but you and Potter, you stayed. You stayed.”  
“I punched you later,” Ron pointed out, in a weak voice.  
“Which I deserved.”  
“Look, I don't have a fucking clue what's going on.” Ron shook his head. “I don't think you want this, Draco... I think you just think you want it because it's all you've ever known... and I would never treat you like he's treated you.”  
“No, I don't want you to, I want you to make it right,” Draco pleaded.  
  
Ron stared at him, unsure of what to do.  
“Do I repulse you?” Draco whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of Ron's nose.  
“No, but I don't-”  
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, as he shifted down and placed his fingers at the bottom of Ron's coat.  
“I think you should because you're probably going to regret this in about an hour's time.”  
  
He gasped as Draco popped open the button of his jeans and slid down the zipper. Warm lips mouthed over his pants.  
  
“MALFOY, _stop_!” Ron cried, pushing at the man's head until he had successfully dislodged him. A flushed, angry expression met him as he looked down. “I don't think you want to do this. I think you're fucked up and upset and trying to do that here isn't a good idea.”  
  
Ron struggled to sitting and managed to do his jeans back up. He stared at Draco for a moment before letting out a sigh.  
  
“You hate me,” he said again. “And I'm not all that gone on you either. You don't know what you are – gay, straight, both, whatever. I think you need to see a Healer. You've been abused. Can't you see how that might have convinced you that you want something that actually, you really don't?”  
“Or are you trying to talk yourself out of something that you really want?”  
“I don't think I want anybody!” Ron cried. “I can barely look after myself at the minute, let alone somebody else, for Merlin's sake.”  
  
They stared at each other for a moment, and then, before Ron could even move, or contemplate chasing him, Draco had gone. Ron breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the back door of the Burrow slam shut a few minutes later.  
  
***  
“The situation has changed.”  
  
Ron picked hard at his thumb cuticle. There were too many people crammed into his mother's tiny kitchen, and too many of them were bristling with anger.  
  
“Malfoy has issued the ultimatum that unless Draco is returned to him by midday tomorrow, he will kill your son, and to hell with the consequences.”  
“Have him then.” George gestured to the blond. “Take him. Give him back.”  
“How's that going to help Charlie?” Ron pointed out. “Malfoy then has everything he wants and no incentive to give it back.”  
“I'll give him a bloody incentive!” George slammed his hand on the table. “I'll fucking kill him.”  
“George, if you can't behave yourself then you'll go outside!” Molly shouted across the kitchen.  
“Why should I behave? We've already lost one family member this year. If you haven't noticed, mum, his bloody hand on the clock is pointing at Mortal Peril. He's going to die if we don't stop this. Give Malfoy his pain in the arse son back, and while you're doing it, go in there and get Charlie back.”  
  
The anger was nauseating. Ron took a deep breath but found that none of it reached his lungs. He wanted to be furious with George for his lack of compassion, but, as his mind argued, George wasn't exactly himself. The deep circles beneath his eyes and the scars up his arms displayed that.  
  
“Malfoy is already facing severe charges,” one of the Aurors said, with a careful look at Draco. “The severest.”  
“Oh whoop, a cell in Azkaban where he'll be fed every day and looked after,” George muttered.  
“No, Mr Weasley. Much more severe than that, but I don't think now is the time to discuss that...”  
“What sentence are you bringing against him?” Draco asked quietly. “Tell me.”  
“Dear, I don't think hearing any of this will do you any favours-”  
  
Ron watched as Draco shook off the hand that his mother tried to lay on his shoulder.  
  
“Tell me what you're going to do to him.”  
“Your father is a war criminal and has not repented, continually broken the law and has abducted another member of the wizarding community. The Wizengamot is of a mind to pass the highest sentence. Do you know what that is, Draco?”  
  
Ron hurt his neck turning to look when the person that answered was not Draco, but his own father.  
  
“Death,” Arthur said, his voice cold. “Execution. By which method?”  
“The Veil.”  
  
A cold shiver ran through Ron's body. “The Veil in the Department of Mysteries? I didn't think that survived the... the fight?”  
“No intervention, Muggle or Magical, could fell that Veil.” The Auror looked down at his feet. “It was used in centuries past to execute those who were proved evil and would simply leave our society better off without them.”  
“But it hasn't been used since-”  
“It doesn't matter when it was last used; the Wizengamot are decided. Should Lucius Malfoy be captured alive, then this is his fate.”  
“I thought we were meant to have evolved?” Ron asked, heat rising to his face. “I didn't think that we would go back to killing people. Didn't we do enough of that during the war?”  
“Malfoy doesn't seem to think so.”  
“But this is... what if Draco doesn't want to go back? What are you planning to do with him?”  
  
Ron found himself on his feet but couldn't remember getting there. Everyone was staring at him.  
  
“Draco Malfoy has had no part in his father's sins and will not be prosecuted. But his return is essential to rescuing your brother, which surely you want?”  
“But I don't want-” Ron stopped himself just short of saying that he didn't want Draco to return to the hell he had come from.  
  
“Do I have a choice?” Draco asked the room at large. “Like I had no choice in coming here?”  
“Of course you have a choice,” the Auror said darkly. “But I hope you'll make the right one.”  
“That's not fair!” Ron cried indignantly. “You've got no idea!”  
“Weasley, you're not helping matters,” Snape interrupted. “Go outside and calm down.”  
“How can you stand here and let them do this, knowing what we know?”  
“That's enough.”  
  
Ron froze as his father's hand clasped tightly around his arm and began to drag him towards the back door. It was freezing outside and, dressed in just his jeans, t-shirt and socks, Ron instantly began to shiver. His father dragged him all the way to the shed and shoved him inside. The door, never in very good repair, threatened to splinter as it was slammed shut behind them.  
  
“What are you _doing?_ ” The words were hissed and spittle hit Ron in the eye. “This might be the only way we can get Charlie back. Do you want him to die?”  
“Of course I don't want him to die!” Ron breathed, shocked by the suggestion. “But Dad, there's stuff you don't know. Stuff which... stuff which it's not fair to send Draco back into if he doesn't want to go.”  
  
“Oh, I can guess.” There was a bitter laugh. “Of all the people, Ron, I thought you would understand why I could not abide having a Malfoy beneath my roof. You: who have been treated exactly the same by that boy as his father treated _me_ when we were at school together, and has never stopped in adult life.”  
“He's not his father.”  
“He is a carbon bloody copy, Ron, only without a taste for sexually abusing those that he chooses to torment.”  
  
The words came out in a rush and were followed by a painful-sounding intake of breath. His father's face was blotchy and his mouth was in a tight line. Ron didn't think he even knew how to breathe at that moment.  
  
“Dad... what did...”  
“I've said far more than I ever promised myself I would,” Arthur turned his back on him. “But you will not stop this. I want my son back and out of that monster's hands. I can only imagine what hell Charlie must be going through.”  
  
With that, the shed door slammed closed again, leaving Ron alone. Suddenly he was aware of all the spiders on the roof above him and began to tingle all over. He thought back through all of the images which Charlie had sent him over the past three weeks. The blood. The binding. The screaming. The forced orgasms and the orgasms painfully denied. The caning. The whipping. The thought of Lucius Malfoy doing any single one of those activities to their _father_ sent Ron near to an apoplectic rage which made him burn.  
  
***  
  
“You've got to tell them,” Ron whispered, trying to keep his voice as low as possible so that they were not overheard.  
  
Since the night in the orchard, he and Draco had barely spoken again. Each incident only seemed to set them back further. But Ron hadn't been able to keep his mouth shut after his conversation with his dad. They were currently stood stooped in a cupboard on the third floor, one which had a creaky floor and nowhere to sit. Their bodies were too close.  
  
“Please, tell them. Otherwise, you know what you're walking back into.”  
“I can't, and I won't.” Draco's voice was dull; the tone of a man who had been sentenced and had resigned himself to it.  
  
Frustrated, Ron allowed his hands to come up and land on the man's slender shoulders. He had at least a half foot in height on him. Draco had to look up into his face.  
  
“I'm sorry about last week,” Ron went on. “I am. I just didn't think that you doing that was going to help you.”  
“And you didn't want me to do it.”  
“I didn't say that.”  
“You said you're not queer.”  
“Stop saying queer like it's a nasty disease you've caught.”  
“Isn't it?” Draco asked sullenly.  
  
Ron looked at him and nearly punched him for the melancholy in his expression.  
  
“No,” he said finally.  
  
The kiss, when he initiated it, was soft and dry. It was different to kissing Hermione. It was definitely different to kissing Lavender. Ron ran out of comparisons then, seeing as he had only ever kissed two women before, and never a man. He fought off the impulse to jump as Draco's hands suddenly smoothed up his back and settled there. Only then did he notice that the blond had opened his mouth and was really kissing back, really kissing _him_ , and there was no malice or mocking intent behind it. Draco's eyelids were shut, and he looked peaceful.  
  
Ron couldn't have said how long it went on for, the kiss, as they stood there in the poky cupboard trying not to make any noise, but he knew his own body was responding, and assumed Draco's was too. Eventually, it petered out and they stood, looking at one another.  
  
“That's what a kiss is meant to be, I think,” Draco murmured.  
“Pretty sure here, too,” Ron agreed.  
“And you didn't run off.”  
“Why would I run off?”  
“Because apparently, you're not queer,” Draco pointed out.  
  
Ron rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”  
  
Draco did. Ron nearly fell over.  
  
“What are we going to do?” he sighed finally, running his palms up Draco's forearms.  
“We? What we?”  
“Us. I'm not letting you walk back into that house alone.”  
  
Draco babbled a protest, but Ron wasn't listening. An idea had slammed into him like a bludger.  
  
“You don't have to go,” he breathed, voice rising with excitement. “It doesn't have to be you. The Ministry have broken his wards and spells. It doesn't have to be you!”  
“What are you blathering on about, Weasley?” Draco snapped. “Of course it has to be me.”  
“Sorry,” Ron said.  
“For what?”  
“This!” Ron winced as he reached out and yanked several strands of platinum blond hair from Draco's head, and legged it from the cupboard.  
  
***  
  
“Stand up straighter,” Snape muttered, as they approached down the long drive towards Malfoy Manor. “You'll never pull this off if you slouch into the entrance hall like a Weasley, instead of a Malfoy.”  
“Oh, shut up, you moaning old bat,” Ron retorted.  
“Remember, you cannot speak. There's no way you could ever pull Draco's voice off, even with years of coaching. The country dialect is too deep within your core.”  
“Ooh-aar, I'll just get me pitchfork.” Ron rolled his eyes.  
“It is a _very_ good thing I cannot hurt you,” Snape informed him.  
“Likewise.”  
  
They both fell silent as the door to the Manor in front of them opened. Nobody stood in the doorway.  
  
“Lucius will be taking no chances. He will think that the Ministry is surrounding his Manor. He wouldn't dream that we would be foolish enough to actually come alone.”  
“Can he see you?” Ron whispered.  
“No, I can choose who I display myself to.”  
“Being dead sounds more interesting than anyone ever lets on.”  
“Let's hope your brother isn't about to find out, Weasley. But yes... there are benefits. Come and go as you please, visit the living, go back to the dead. Of course, I could do without Albus' tea parties, but there we are.”  
  
Ron had to stop the snorting laughter from ripping out of Draco's mouth. Snape threw him a warning look.  
  
“He will be waiting, most likely in his study. You must act, Ron, like you have walked through this house every single day of your life, do you understand me?”  
“I understand.”  
  
Understand he might, but that didn't mean he wasn't nearly shitting himself in Draco's very expensive trousers as they stepped over the threshold. His footsteps began to echo on the tiled floor. The place was covered in dust. He left footprints as he walked.  
  
“Through the door on the left, down the hallway,” Snape whispered in his ear. Ron shivered.  
  
He followed the instructions without batting an eyelid and tried not to think about the last time he had visited Malfoy Manor. He also tried not think whereabouts his brother was being kept, and what state he would be in. The door to the study stood ajar, waiting. He took a deep breath, and pushed it open, trying to stop Draco's fingers from trembling.  
  
“I knew you would come. I knew they would release you.”  
  
Ron said nothing, trying to remember everything he could about Draco's expressions. Nobody knew he was there. Not even Harry. If it all went wrong, there would be hell to pay.  
  
 _And Draco will be alone with them... and they won't understand..._ Ron couldn't say why that mattered to him. Draco Malfoy was unpleasant. He was rude. He had a habitual ability to make Ron feel like scum. But he cared.  
  
“Come here, my son. Come here.”  
  
It was then that Ron looked properly at Lucius Malfoy, and it was clear even more to him that a death sentence was not the right fate for the man. He was clearly unwell. His eyes were wide, his facial pallor nearer to grey than any other colour. His hair was full of grease and un-brushed. He looked like an animal. As Ron neared, he smelt sour breath. He didn't know whether it was best to tense or to relax as Lucius drew him close and smelt his hair, touched the small of his back, pressed a damp kiss to his throat.  
  
“I knew you would come,” Lucius repeated, his voice dropping to a croak. “I knew my boy would never leave me...”  
  
Fingers began to card through Draco's hair in all directions. “I have missed you so much. I need you.”  
  
Ron felt his pulse accelerate as he was leant backwards over the desk. Emaciated as he looked, there was still enough weight behind Lucius Malfoy to cause a problem if Ron lost the wand up his sleeve.  
  
“I had my fun with Weasley.” Ron was trapped into the disgusting kiss. “I played with him until he was begging for more, but he was too strong. He wouldn't break for me, not like you break for me, sweet Draco... not like you do. He wouldn't... so I killed him.”  
  
Rage exploded from Ron at that moment. Lucius Malfoy flew backwards across the room and his head connected with a sickening crack against the opposite wall. He landed in a heap, limply, at the bottom.  
  
“You said he was alive!” he bellowed, turning to look for Snape. “You said that he was sending me those images!”  
  
Ron was staggered when he saw the look of horror on Snape's own face. “He was. He was the last time I saw him. It was just days ago, Ron.”  
  
They stared at each other.  
  
“Bind him,” Snape advised quietly, looking beyond Ron's shoulders.  
“I'll fucking kill him myself,” Ron half-roared, yanking the wand out of his sleeve and sticking it out in front of him, shooting ropes around Lucius' unconscious form.  
“Do you think Draco will thank you as his father's murderer?” Snape shouted back. “Do you think anything good will come of you killing him? It won't bring Charlie back, Ron!”  
  
“Especially seeing as I'm not actually dead anyway.”  
  
Ron dropped his wand and thought his heart had actually stopped. There, in the doorway, was Charlie, who looked thin, pale, and exhausted, but alive.  
  
“Ron... I heard what you said from in the hallway... Don't kill him. He's an ill man.”  
“He's a paedophile!” Ron spat.  
“I know he is. He told me everything he did to Draco when he did the same to me. He compared us. It was sick. But it's not your place to make the call on whether he lives or he dies.”  
“How are you alive?” Ron asked, shaking his head. “He said he killed you.”  
“He killed who he thought was me.”  
  
Charlie looked at his feet.  
  
“Where is Narcissa?” Snape asked suddenly, looking around as though she might be hiding behind the desk, waiting to pop up and shout 'surprise!'  
“Narcissa came to me in the night, a few days ago. I was out of it pretty much... I was close to... well. She came to me, and she told me that she was sorry. She told me that she was sorry about what he was doing to me, and that she was going to stop it.”  
“How?” Ron asked in unison with Snape.  
  
Charlie's face became pained. “She took my hair. He had me bound at night, there was no way I could stop her. When I next woke up, I was safe in the wing of the manor which she had been locked in by him, and she was...”  
“She was in your place,” Snape finished for him.  
  
Charlie nodded, unable to say anything else. Ron flung himself across the room, not sure whether he was still a Malfoy or not, but wrapped his arms tightly around Charlie's body and didn't let go.  
  
“And now she's dead,” Snape said behind them. “What happened when he killed her, and her body morphed back to her own?”  
“I don't know,” Charlie admitted. “He never approached her old quarters... maybe he thought she'd just set me free. But that was when he lost it. He began talking to himself, pulling his hair out... I could hear him screaming from the rooms and then I found this mirror which Narcissa had obviously been using to spy on him and what he was doing with me. I could see him falling apart. He made the demand with the Ministry to get Draco back... because he was all he had left.”  
“Draco doesn't want to come back.”  
“I don't fucking blame him.”  
  
Charlie said no more, and Ron did not let him go.  
  


* * *

  
  
“I hate hospitals,” Ron breathed, easing down into the hard, plastic chair in the canteen. It stank of something which was supposed to resemble a roast dinner; he thought it smelt more like dog food.  
“I'm not surprised.” Hermione lifted her eyebrows. “You've spent the last six months in and out of it visiting one person or another. Visiting for yourself.”  
“I'm fine,” Ron muttered.  
“Are we still playing that game, really?” she asked, shaking her head. “You might not have suffered physical abuse, Ron, but you suffered emotional abuse indirectly through that whole ordeal. Don't sit there and bare faced lie to me that it hasn't affected you.”  
  
Ron took her at face value and didn't reply.  
  
“But what I want to know,” she went on, propping her chin up on her hand, “Is why you're still coming to the hospital when Charlie was discharged two months ago.”  
“Why are you here?” Ron tried to change the subject.  
“I _work_ here, you idiot.” Hermione huffed at him.  
“Oh, right.” Ron went red.  
“Does your continual visiting have anything to do with Draco?”  
“No, why would it?”  
“There we go again, with the lying. I'm in training to be a Healer, Ron. I have access to everyone's notes. You're the only person on his visitor's list. And you visit every day.”  
“Do I?” Ron asked airily, pretending like he hadn't realised.  
“What's going on?” Hermione leant back in her chair and folded her arms over her chest. “Something clearly is.”  
“When he was staying at the Burrow... we... got over some stuff,” Ron said delicately, reaching out to play with the little salt packets in the middle of the table.  
  
Hermione snatched his wrist in a painful grip. “Tell me the truth.”  
“Why so bitchy? That time of the month?” Ron winced, and she scowled at him.  
“You hate one another.”  
“That's what I kept saying. But... I s'pose, things change.”  
  
***  
  
Having finally shaken Hermione off due to the ending of her break, Ron quickly made his way up to the mental health wards. The healers there knew him now, nodded to him and smiled. When he approached Draco's room, the door to which was closed, he stepped up to a nurse on rounds.  
  
“How is he today?”  
“Quiet. But I'm sure that seeing you will do the trick.” She winked at him. Ron blushed.  
  
He entered the hospital room and saw Draco sitting on the bed, staring out of the window.  
  
“So what's my diagnosis today, then?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the horizon.  
“Quiet, apparently.” Ron sat down next to him and reached out for the nearest of Draco's hands. He raised it to his lips and kissed it in greeting.  
  
He was mostly sure that what they were sharing wasn't healthy for Draco after everything he had been through in his childhood. He was sure there should have been a period for him to try and understand if men were truly what he wanted, and not women. The truth was, though, that Ron couldn't walk away. He had apparated home from the Ministry on the night he had impersonated Draco with Charlie in his arms whilst the Aurors sorted out the Manor. He had deposited a tearful Charlie with his stunned parents, and headed right to Draco's room, where he had found the blond awake, clearly worrying about the next day.  
  
 _”It's over,” he whispered, pulling Draco close to him. “It's over. Never again.”_  
  
“You smell like dog food,” Draco announced suddenly, with disgust.  
“That would be the canteen.”  
“Go away.”  
“Don't be a knob, Draco.”  
  
Ron squeezed the blond's hand again and smiled to himself. There was a lot of damage done. But the smile he could see on Draco's face out of the corner of his eye meant that something else, too, had been done, which was a lot more hopeful than what had already gone.  
  


_“But, my God, it's so beautiful when the boy smiles..._

_No one can find the rewind button, boys,  
So cradle your head in your hands,  
And breathe... just breathe.”_

  
  



End file.
